


she is dancing away from you now

by firstaudrina



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 13:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: “Cordelia,” Misty says. “Is there a reason you haven’t kissed me yet?”





	she is dancing away from you now

**Author's Note:**

> If these two women don’t kiss, what even is the point. Set sometime after Michael raises Misty from hell.

When they return to New Orleans, Misty comes back to Miss Robichaux’s but she does not stay. “I think,” she says, and Cordelia can predict where this is going even without powers of divination, “that I’ve got to go back to the swamp. For a little while. Just a little while. Is that —”

“Of course.” Cordelia’s voice is crisp and accommodating. “Of course, Misty. You do whatever you need to do.”

Misty is resolute, but she still stalls for a moment. She lingers in the doorway, her ringed hands on either side of the frame, straddling the threshold. Cordelia’s heart picks up, _pit pat pit pat pitpatpitpatpitpat_ , but Misty doesn’t change her mind and decide to stay after all. She dips her head in a nod, gaze dropping, and goes. 

It’s good that Misty is prioritizing her needs. She has been through an ordeal and needs to take care of herself. 

They’ve been apart for so long as it is. What’s a few more days, a week or two?

Cordelia is busy, anyway. There are plans to be made. She hardly has time for — well. 

When Misty does come back, she drifts ghostlike through the hallowed halls, just a gentle shuffle of boot heels to signal her presence. Everywhere she goes, she leaves behind the rich scent of the earth, of grass and soil and river water. It makes Cordelia’s throat catch. After she lost Misty, she craved that scent but couldn’t find it anywhere — not in her greenhouse, not in her garden, not at the fringes of the forest. Now here it is again, so verdant and alive that she can almost taste it. Almost. 

“Miss Cordelia —” Misty starts, but she doesn’t get much farther.

“Please don’t call me _miss_. You’re not one of my students. You’re — I would like for you to think of me as — as a friend, at least.”

The tiny nod Misty gives her still calls to mind the dutiful pupil. “Cordelia,” she amends, the syllables luxurious in her soft drawl. “Is there a reason you haven’t kissed me yet?”

It’s so completely the last thing Cordelia expects to hear that her mind goes blank. She has no idea what to say. She can’t tell if the tingling in her fingers is a sign of her continued weakening or if excitement is making her short-circuit. “I suppose I was just trying to be respectful.”

“Oh.” Misty nods again, considering this with her lips pursed slightly. When her eyes meet Cordelia’s, they’re sparkling. “Then can you respect me less?”

Surprised laughter bubbles over Cordelia’s lips. “I can try,” she promises, and her feet are already carrying her to Misty, her hands are already sinking into that cloud of blonde hair. It’s only once her lips have met Misty’s that Cordelia realizes how long it’s been since she last kissed someone, anyone — her disappointing husband, maybe, or a tipsy mistake at a bar one night. There is the same slight awkwardness in Misty, an uncertainty that takes a moment to right itself into a rush of _yes_. Yes, they can have this, yes, they do want this, yes, this is exactly what’s supposed to happen. Yes. 

Misty pulls back just far enough to wet her lips, as though she’s confirming that the kiss really happened. Their noses bump, their eyes meet — giddy, the tip of Misty’s tongue flicks out against Cordelia’s mouth. It’s a tease but it’s a test too, so Cordelia kisses her again, as certain as the first time she took Misty’s hands in hers. Relief washes over both of them, all the bad tension dissipating and leaving only the good. 

“Come on.” Misty disentangles herself to lead the way to the stairs, though her fringed shawl gets caught on Cordelia’s belt, keeping them linked. Cordelia pulls her closer again, grip firm on Misty’s waist. 

Confidently, Cordelia says, “This is quicker.” And between one blink and the next, they’re upstairs in her bedroom, dizzy and laughing.

“Never got that far,” Misty says, but she does not sound bitter, only enchanted. 

“You can perform other wonders,” Cordelia teases. She touches Misty’s face, her mouth, the ends of her hair. Misty is a wonder. Cordelia hasn’t tired of looking at her, drinking in the fact that Misty isn’t gone, she isn’t dust. She’s here and whole, and already picking at the buttons of Cordelia’s blouse. She’s here, pulling Cordelia towards the bed step by step.

“And I’ve got you for the rest.” Her eyebrows lift a little, she bites her lip. Asking without asking: _do I?_

Cordelia’s hand travels from Misty’s waist to her hip, curves around her ass to grab her thigh. She urges Misty’s leg up as she tips her back onto the bed, hair spilling bright over the ivory coverlet. “Your Supreme is at your service,” she says, smiling. “Whatever you need.”

Misty reaches for her with both hands and drags her into a kiss that almost hurts, all those rings snagging in Cordelia’s hair. The kissing is hurried, furious. The shawl slips from Misty’s arms and is flattened underneath them, their black skirts puddle. Misty’s boots are crusty with Louisiana mud that flakes onto Cordelia’s pristine duvet, but she won’t even notice until hours later, too consumed in the moment by parting Misty’s lips with her tongue.

Cordelia fumbles for the hem of Misty’s skirt, reaches under it so she can follow Misty’s inner thigh up to the damp cotton of her panties, pushed aside now for Cordelia’s questing fingers. Misty makes a soft sound, unexpectedly dreamy; the kind of noise she might make when she wakes up in the morning, indulgent and drowsy. That sound slows the slide of Cordelia’s fingers against Misty, wet and flushed to the touch. It makes her press light kisses to Misty’s cheeks until her eyes open, keeps their eyes locked, here in this bed. 

“Sometimes,” Misty begins in a whispery voice, not quiet so much as it is delicate. Cordelia pauses, but Misty insists, “No, no, keep going. I don’t want you to stop. I just have to say something, alright? Alright. It’s only sometimes, since I’ve been back, everything feels like it’s on fire. Not in a bad way.” Her thighs close around Cordelia’s hand to keep it trapped, skin sticky and heated. “Just when I was there, it was so cold. I didn’t expect it to be so cold. Nothing could touch me, not really, and I couldn’t touch anything either. Now it’s so much, it’s — it’s so much.”

Her shirt has twisted around her body, buttons pulling and lace bra half-exposed, the skin across her chest reddened and nipples hard. 

“And I want it,” Misty finishes. “I want all of it. Even if it hurts.”

Cordelia sits up and looks down at her, then nudges Misty’s legs apart so she can fit between them and lean down for a kiss. They undress each other, buttons unbuttoned and zippers unzipped, clothes pushed to the opposite side of the bed or dropped on the floor. Cordelia presses her palms against Misty’s warm stomach with all the intent of casting a spell. She can’t promise that being alive isn’t going to hurt, even though she would like to. 

“I feel like I’ve been waiting for something my entire life,” Cordelia tells her finally. “It wasn’t until you were gone that I knew what I was waiting for.”

Misty looks at her for a long moment, then averts suddenly shining eyes. “Well, goddamn.” 

Cordelia smiles and tilts Misty’s face back. “You’re alive.”

“I’m alive.” There’s resolve in her face, then humor. “Make me feel it.”

But she’s the one who pushes Cordelia onto her back, hungry for it, wanting everything. She shifts aside the open silk shirt Cordelia is still half-wearing so she can press rushed, reverent kisses to Cordelia’s skin. She has one singular purpose and no interest in teasing, no plans to build desire to a dizzying point. She wants to affix her mouth between Cordelia’s legs; she wants a taste.

Cordelia has to turn her face into the pillow muffle her gasps, these great gulps of air that almost embarrass her. Her insides feel strangely raw, like every breath scrapes her throat and chest. Her heart is pounding, her body twisting; tension has made her feel so taut she might snap. Too much, like Misty has said. It all feels like too much. It shouldn’t come as such a surprise — Misty’s hands have always had life in them. 

After she wrings an orgasm from Cordelia, they both lay there together, panting. Misty’s cheek rests on Cordelia’s thigh. Her lips are wet, and her fingers still tease a little, slide into Cordelia and out again. Cordelia releases the fistful of bedding she’d been clutching and turns her hand over, draws her fingers to her palm in a rippling wave that makes all the candles in the room light at once. The gathering dusk is gently illuminated, Misty bathed in gold from her curls to her bare hip and sprawled legs. 

She finally sits up, looking tumbled and pink and sweet. Her nipples are drawn to tight attention, and her necklaces still lie against her chest. Too much jewelry to take it all off, though half her rings ended up scattered across the bed. “Hey Supreme,” she says, half-smiling. “I need something.”

Cordelia’s fingers are already traipsing down Misty’s stomach, intent on finishing what she’d started. “Let me guess.”

Misty leans in, angling for a kiss. “Good guess.”


End file.
